


Baby, Please Come Home

by Captain_Cha0s



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics), Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, Young Justice (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Christmas, Christmas Angst, Christmas Fluff, Everyone Gets A Hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Kidnapping, M/M, Multi, No beta we die Jason Todd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27900595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Cha0s/pseuds/Captain_Cha0s
Summary: It's Christmas, and Jason is still trying to pretend his family don't exist - with the help of Roy and Kori. Of course, the Batfam won't have that.
Relationships: Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson (mentioned), Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Roy Harper/Koriand'r/Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown/Cassandra Cain (mentioned), Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 10
Kudos: 128





	1. The Outlaws VS the In-laws

**Author's Note:**

> I've marked this as teen because Jason is probs gonna swear at some point (let's be honest kids). Also there's some build up between the Outlaws, but no sex actually happens. (They're all very disappointed).
> 
> This is very gratuitous, because I'm v v in love with these three sweethearts, and aspire to have what they have. Joyfire is everything. Also, please ignore me projecting my holiday-related issues onto the characters.

Jason, out of all the Outlaws, was not an exhibitionist. If anyone was, it was Roy; the man seemingly allergic to common decency within their crappy little apartment. He'd shocked the neighbours one too many times walking past the windows, bare ass naked. Which was why it was such a surprise to see Jason as the one stood over the stove in nothing but his fur trim Santa boxers (an early present from Kori), gun holsters, and a Christmas hat, on the chilly morning of December 25th.

On the radio, Hard Candy Christmas was playing, the ex-Robin humming along with the tune. It had always been one of uncle Clark's favourites, sure to fill the Manor during his visits over the holidays, every year (when Jason had still lived there, some 6 or 7 years ago now). Superman loved Dolly Parton.

"Mornin'." Jason paused his humming to mouth round the cigarette drooping from between his teeth, not even having to turn to feel the eyes on his back.

The smoke glowed briefly with each breath in the chill morning air, breezing in through the open kitchen window; the answer to a broken extractor fan. Roy was _far_ too busy tinkering with his many toys to fix such a necessity. Not that Jason couldn't have done it himself. He'd had to repair a lot of this apartment, over the years. It was the one he'd moved into with his Mom, after his Dad was sent to prison, to try for a fresh start. The placed Catherine had died in.

A lot had changed since that day. The whole building was now owned by Bruce Wayne, who'd given it more than a paint job. The whole building looked brand new. It practically _sparked_. And yet... It was still home. Although, in part, that may have been more due to the people who lived there.

"Merry Christmas, Jaybird." Roy leant against the kitchen counter, watching him with slight amusement. "What's cooking?"

It was common knowledge that since Jason's grand return from the grave, he never really felt temperature anymore - save from the extreme. That was why he enjoyed being sandwiched between Roy and Kori at night on their king sized mattress, in search of the slightest hint of warmth they brought him. Or showered at a heat only he and Kori seemed to be able to stand, which would leave his skin a bright, rosy pink (which left Roy feeling very left out). And why, now, the chill of their apartment didn't seem to be bothering him. He never said anything, but it made him feel more alive. More human. Although, it was usually the warmth he craved, which was why current state of undress was such a surprise. Not that Roy was complaining.

"Pancakes." Jason replied as he flipped over the first of them, filling the room with it's warm, buttery scent.

Roy liked Jason's pancakes. He made them British, like Alfred, and smothered them in a homemade blueberry cinnamon sauce. They were the reason Roy wouldn't live to 50 - with the amount of butter Jason cooked them in - if the, y'know, vigilante-ism didn't kill him first. Of course, there were worse ways to go out. And all things considered, Death By Pancake was probably his preferred method of demise, considering everything he'd manage to survive thus far.

"Dibs on the freak." Roy grinned, always willing to eat the first pancake - no matter how badly it turned out.

Jason deserved the validation.

"Sorry, Red." Jason smirked. "Kori's already called it. First one goes to the princess."

Great minds think alike, Roy mused.

"Where is her majesty, anyway?" Roy asked, unable to take his eyes off the man before him.

Thighs, and shoulders carved like the Gods. Thin, pale scars ghosting his skin. And that little crease in his brow, absolutely adorably, which formed when he was concentrating. Like now, as he was trying to scrape the utterly destroyed pancake from the bottom of the pan. Roy absolutely loved taking in every detail of him. Although, usually, Jason wasn't distracted enough to let him get away with staring. He didn't like Roy, or Kori (or _anyone_ for that matter), looking at him so intently, despite their love and adoration. It always made him far too self conscious, as though he were under scrutiny. He clearly didn't share their appreciation for his body that they did. But that was fine- Well, not fine. But it just meant they'd have to show him, and keep showing him, until he knew how much they adored him.

"She's out food shopping. She has demanded we celebrate 'what they call on this planet, Christmas'." Jason snorted fondly, really only doing this for her.

This time of year had always been important to his mother, with her Catholic upbringing. But since her death, he'd never had the heart for it. Bruce had offered, of course, to uphold the holiday, once Jason had come to live with him - despite being from a Jewish family himself. And they had, in their own way. With old timey Christmas movies, and Chinese food, and very ugly seasonally appropriate jumpers. Also, a tree. He was sure Alfred had many photos somewhere...

An invite was always extended from the Kent household, to spend Christmas on the farm. And they always promised they would, one day. But Jason had died before they could go through with 'Christmas with the Kent's'. Although, they always ended up with a walk-in fridge full of Ma Kent's Tupperware. Boxes upon boxes of home cooking, enough to have their own Christmas Dinner 5 times over. Turkey, and homegrown veg, and pie. _So_ much pie.

Much to Clark's distress, they'd put a lot of the food into after patrol sandwiches; a Bruce Wayne speciality (since it didn't actually involve him cooking anything).

Jason wondered if the man had ever gone through with it, especially now they were a _thing_ \- visiting the farm for the holidays. But he was drawn from those thoughts, then, when there was a familiar rattle of keys at the door. Kori, as she made her entrance, was a sight. Although, when wasn't she - in her Santa hat, and off the shoulder fur trim green velvet dress; the skirt of which barely making it half way down her thigh. The garment was clearly not meant for a 6ft Tamaranean warrior princess.

Good thing, too, with the number of bags slung over her shoulders, and down her arms. She needed the muscle. It seemed she'd bought the whole shop, visiting the little 24-hour convenience store down the road. It was run by a family who didn't celebrate the holiday, for religious reasons, who had been very excited to see her; Kori previously recuing their daughter's cat, who had got stuck in a tree. They had been the only place open, and had been very helpful in their suggestions of what to buy (even if, much like Kori, they'd never celebrated Christmas themselves). They had even refused to let her pay - as a thank you for saving Nonu, a little black cat with green eyes. Jason didn't appreciate being told it reminded her of him.

Koriand'r blew hair the colour of a winter sunset out of her eye, looking somewhat distressed. But then, that's what you get for leaving your Christmas shopping until the day itself. It was a surprised she'd managed to find any food at all - even with the family's help. They had been lovely. The other customers had not.

"Need a hand, sweetheart?" Roy was the first to offer, already standing.

"Thank you," She accepted the help gratefully. "It seems two isn't enough."

"Good timing." Jason commented from his position at the stove, taking the pan off the heat and stamping out his cigarette on the windowsill ashtray. "You made it just in time for the reject- Ah, _shit_."

That caught his best friends' attention. Even Kori's eyes seemed to flash for just a moment, like cats eyes under a headlight, at whatever had caused him to swear.

"You alright, Jaybird?" Roy turned back to him, now laden with his own armful of bags.

"Yeah," He scowled, inspecting his hand. "Just burnt my finger on the pan."

At the sound of his distress, Kori floated over to him, landing softly at his side. She'd dumped the rest of the bags on Roy to attend to Jason, the archer practically crumbling under the weight.

"Aw, dearest." She pouted, lifting his hand to see the damage.

Turning off the stove so as to avoid any further injuries, she kissed Jason's knuckles, even as he scowled. There was barely a mark there. Certainly not enough for him to bother running it under cold water for 20 minutes, nor for him to be on the receiving end of all this kind attention. He'd had worse, after all.

"Need me to make it better?" She offered, so close to him him now, he could smell her rose oil perfume.

Okay, maybe he should stop complaining.

"I wouldn't mind that..." He began leaning in, enjoying the warmth that always radiated off her skin.

"Hello?" Roy called to them, trying to balance the bags lining his arms like tassels. "Struggling boyfriend here, who would also like to help make things better?"

Despite breaking the moment, there was always something so endearing about Roy Harper. Even as he dropped the first of the bags, and watched in horror as the loose sprouts rolled in every direction across their moderately clean floor. Jason and Kori couldn't help but smile at him. A shark-like smile, which said they wanted to eat him alive.

Jason shook his head, smirking. "How are we so attracted to you?"

"I think it's the size of his-"

"KORI!"

***

Roy... Frankly didn't know how he'd gotten so lucky. All his senses were overwhelmed. The smell of Kori's perfume as she kissed his neck, hair tickling his shoulders. The weight of Jason grinding in his lap, cold hands riding up underneath his stolen hoodie (Jason's). The taste of blueberries and cinnamon when they kissed. The sound of Elvis on the radio now, telling them Santa Claus is Back in Town. He had to admit, he never thought it would be such a good song for a lap dance. Merry freakin' Christmas-

There was a knock at the door.

"Fuck." Jason hissed, forehead falling to Roy's shoulder.

"Maybe if we're quiet, they'll go away?" Kori suggested from the other side, gently tracing patterns into Roy's skin with her nails.

Beneath her, the archer had grown a pretty, embarrassed pink. The kind which brought out his freckles. He still found it cute, the way his lovers tried to count them. Especially when they did so with kisses.

The knock came again then, heavier, and a voice accompanied it this time.

"Master Jason, do you believe it appropriate to leave your guests waiting out in the snow?"

" _Fuck_." Jason swore again, this time with more feeling.

This was... Unexpected. But he could never say no to Alfred - which meant opening the door in his very seasonally appropriate underwear, if he didn't want to leave them waiting any longer. And by the sounds of the bickering voices on the other side (Tim and Damian, if he had to guess), it seemed the butler wasn't alone, either. At least the thought of interacting with his family was enough to kill his hard-on.

"It's not rude if they're not invited." He called back, though swung a leg off Roy's lap anyway, making towards the door.

Behind him, he heard miserable grumbling as Roy and Kori attempted to make themselves more presentable, clearly disappointed at having their private little Christmas morning plans ruined.

Fighting his way down the line of locks and bolts, Jason had to stifle a laugh when he finally got the door open. Sure, he was braced for the cold, but what he hadn't prepared for was the whole Bat-family stood on his doorstep, each sporting a different, uniquely hideous holiday jumper. Although, he wouldn't voice that opinion out loud, especially in front of Alfred. It was obvious, after all, who had made them. It wasn't as though Bruce was one to sit down, and pull out a set of needles of an evening. Although, as a kid, Alfred would often task him with the job of untangling his wool. He'd probably much prefer that, to his current evening activities.

There was Damian, brow drawn into a tight scowl, and bottom lip stuck out in a pout, sporting a sweater patterned with Christmas lights (which, much to his own horror, _actually_ lit up). Then there was Tim, who's had a giant 'S' (for Superboy) on the front, surrounded by snowflakes. Cass's had much the same design, except with a particular bat symbol in place of the 'S'. Dick's was blue (of course) with little Robins perched in a line across the chest. And Bruce was sporting his usual grey, the jumper patterned with little menorahs and stars of David. It seemed only Alfred had escaped the particular fashion parade.

"I don't know why you're laughing." Dick grinned, an evil little glint in his eye. "What do you think your first present is?"

Jason sighed, moving back to allow them in. All the while though, he had to bite his lip from smiling. With his current state of undress, he wasn't against the gift of clothes. Especially when they were made with love.

"So what's with the surprise visit?" Roy asked, still blushing, though a little more together now.

"Jason had not told us his family would be coming over." Kori agreed, sitting hip to hip with him, where they'd moved onto the kitchen counter.

Their tone wasn't exactly... Icy. But they couldn't be said to be entirely trustful of the family. Or, more specifically, Bruce.

"We all agreed that the holidays weren't the same without us all there." The man himself spoke up - although the look he got from Alfred suggested that this conclusion had been very difficult to reach - the answer so uncharacteristically honest.

In short, the entire family was fed up with Bruce moping around for the entire month. He'd been brooding more than usual lately, which put everyone in a sour mood - ruining the holiday spirit, which Dick fought so valiantly to maintain. And it seemed that the man was completely unable to come to the conclusion by himself that maybe he'd be less miserable if he actually _reached out_ , and _spoke_ to Jason (because it was so very, very obvious that that was the problem). They'd practically had to stage an intervention to get him here.

But the thing was, the issue wasn't with seeing Jason - it was that Jason wouldn't want to see _him_. Their relationship had improved, so so much, over the past handful of years. But he was all too painfully aware that they would probably never again have that father-son bond they'd once had, from before Jason had died. He'd tried to reach out before. Of course he had. But Jason had been fuelled by rage, and pain, and betrayal, and hadn't wanted to know - which Bruce couldn't blame him for (in fact, he entirely blamed himself). But he didn't think his heart could take being rejected again. And yet... He would never stop reaching out for his son. Even if he never seemed to go about it the right way...

He moved into the kitchen quickly with his bags, ushered along by Alfred, before he could even have a chance to be rejected.

As they all flocked in, it took Jason himself a moment to realise that they were all carrying something. Bags of presents, and piles of Tupperware, and, in Dick's case, an entire child. Damian's ankle was wrapped in a cast, and Dick took it as his duty to make sure he didn't slip on the Outlaws icy front stairs. Which, of course, Damian was less than happy about. Bruce's eldest had never looked more paternal, with the 13 year old balanced on one hip, and his crutches held tight in the other hand.

"What gives, Demon Brat? We've already got _one_ Tiny Tim." Jason laughed, dragging his younger brother into his side to give him a noogie as he walked through the door.

"Hey!" Tim yelled, fighting to escape, though grinning none the less.

Much like the rest of the family, his relationship with his older brother was... Rocky. But it had gotten better. And as much as he hated to admit it, he liked this side of Jason. The one who would pick on him, instead of trying to pick him off. Although he was thankful when Jason finally let go, Cass voluntarily taking a place under Jason's arm, to wrap her arms around his middle like a koala.

"Missed you." She grinned into his side, as he gave her an affectionate squeeze.

Little did they know, but Jason found he liked playing older brother, too.

"Baby Bat twisted his ankle on patrol." Dick set Damian down gently before he could start biting.

"Yes, and Richard won't stop being a mother hen!" Damian glowered, practically snatching his crutches out of his grip. "I am the son of Batman, I'm perfectly capable of walking unaided!"

Getting his crutches under his arms, he hobbled his way over to Jason's armchair, before collapsing. He turned up his nose in disgust at the seat, snatching out his phone to play Cheese Vikings; the video game recently turned into an app. It was probably a good thing he didn't know what had almost happened in that chair mere moments before their arrival.

With his arms now free, Dick turned to great his old friends.

"It's nice to see you, Grayson." Roy hopped down from the counted, throwing his arms round his shoulders.

"It's been too long." Kori enveloped them both, warm, and soft, and smelling of roses.

Like many relationships within the room, theirs was... Complicated; Dick's ex-best friend, and, well, ex. Matters only made worse by distance. But with Jason slowly falling back into the fold of the family, he seemed to be dragging the Outlaws along with him. And more often than not, it wouldn't be uncommon for Nightwing to run into Red Hood on a rooftop, accompanied by Starfire and Arsenal. But there was always something more intimate about meeting up out of uniform. Especially between the original Titans, who had once (and continued) to see each other as family. Sometimes, like now, they could go back to acting like nothing had changed. No fallen heroes. No falling outs.

They stayed together like that for a minute, before Dick spoke up from the middle, "You guys wouldn't mind helping me with the tree, would you?"

***

"X'hal."

When Jason came out of the bedroom, now a lot more dressed, in black jeans and a Wonder Woman t-shirt, he wasn't sure what he expected to see - but it wasn't Dick, Roy and Kori trying to shove an 8 foot tree through the front door. He had half a mind to turn back around, and pretend he hadn't seen everything. But then there was Bruce in his kitchen, jumper off and shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, beckoning him for help. And what kind of hero would Jason be if he left his Dad to his own devices when cooking? The man couldn't be trusted to reheat soup.

"Jason..." Bruce began, catching his eyes, looking like he wanted to say something important - before he thought better of it, and instead asked, "Where do you keep the... The chopping boards?"

Jason shook his head, not expecting anything less from the man. Although, he was glad to have escaped from one of Bruce's emotionally stunted attempts at a heart to heart. It made him smile a little, at how much hadn't changed.

"Here." He squeezed past to reach into the cupboard by Bruce's knee, plonking the retrieved board down on the side. "You peel, I'll chop."

Bruce smiled too, then. He missed how bossy Jason was in the kitchen.

It was strange, how easily they fell into step together. Under Alfred's leadership, the meal slowly began to pull together. Bruce peeled the vegetables (potatoes, carrots, parsnips, Brussel sprouts), whilst Jason chopped. Tim and Steph prepared the sides, mixing the stuffing and wrapping the pigs in blankets. And Alfred handled the turkey; the only one trusted to do so, stuffing it with lemon, and onion, and garlic, and bay leaves, honey (with a dash of salt and pepper for flavour).

"No Clark?" Jason asked, enjoying working elbow to elbow with his Dad (even if he kept having to slice off all the little bits of skin Bruce kept missing on the spuds).

"He'll be here later." Bruce promised. "If that's... Alright?"

Jason couldn't help the little snort he made, still in good humour. "As if my opinion would have stopped _you_ _lot_ from piling in here."

Bruce looked a little guilty at that, but they were both enjoying themselves too much for it to last. "Clark's doing the rounds with Jon. Having lunch with his parents and Connor at the farm, then presents with Lois in Metropolis, before joining us here."

"Jon's coming?" Damian perked up at that, his expression the furthest it had been from a scowl all day.

Dick had roped him into helping decorate the tree, along with Roy and Kori, and Damian was less than impressed about only being able to reach the bottom half to hang the red and gold baubles. At his distress, Kori had allowed him to sit atop her shoulders (which he protested a lot less than when Dick had offered). He'd accepted, using his leg as an excuse. But at least now, it meant he could reach to put the star on top of the tree. He was also enjoying being vertically superior to everyone else in the room.

The place was really starting to come together now; their very own winter wonderland. Homemade snowflakes stuck in the windows. Tinsel round the doorframes. Fairy lights zigzagging across the ceiling. Named stockings hanging very snug together about the fireplace (lit by Kori). Made all the more fitting as Step into Christmas played on the radio.

"It's Clark's year with him." Bruce nodded as explanation.

"So, you and Superman..." Jason nudged his Dad in the ribs, every bit the little shit he'd been as a kid.

The last few years had been... Complicated for the Kents. It had taken Clark a long time to realise he loved Lois, although not in the way she wanted him to. It had taken him longer, then, to realise the person he _did_ love in that way, was Bruce (who, uncharacteristically, had been pretty sure of his own feelings for a long, _long_ time). Of course, Jon's existence at this point didn't make the situation any easier. But arrangements were met, and Clark and Lois stayed friends; because that's what they were, long before they ever got together.

"Me and _Clark_..." Bruce corrected, not taking his eyes off his work. "Are happy."

"Good." Jason smiled, meaning it.

He let the conversation lie again for a moment, filling up a pan at the sink to put on the boil. But of course, as he transferred it to the hob, the little bit of Lazarus in him couldn't allow the peace to settle.

"What does that mean for Tim and the clone, now?" Jason asked, evil gleam in his eye. "Is it still... Allowed?"

"Remember who's cooking the food, bucket head." Tim threatened, causing Cass to giggle beside him.

" _Children_." Alfred chastised, before the conversation could escalate.

"Sorry Alf." Jason moved back to his station at the counter. "Although, it's very hard to take you seriously with your arm stuffed up the turkey's-"

Jason swore colourfully when he felt a sprout lobbed with pinpoint accuracy at his head. When he turned to weed out the attacker, he caught Cass grinning maniacally. He decided, for the sake of his health, not to take counter-action. If I fight broke out, he was all too aware who'd win.

"Nice shot!" Roy called.

Jason flipped him the bird.

"So Cass, where's your louder half?" He asked his sister, trying to ignore his idiot boyfriend (and the vegetable assault).

"With her Mom." She informed him, before waving her foot in the air, grinning, "Gave me socks."

They were odd, one purple and spotty, and the other with a stiped rainbow pattern, as if Steph had picked them out that way on purpose. He wouldn't put it past her.

"Hers match." Cass continued to beam proudly.

Jason felt a pang of guilt, suddenly. He hadn't got his family _anything._ Sure, he hadn't expected to see them, what with their unannounced arrival. Also the fact he was still unsure whether he'd wanted to see them _at all_ , holidays or otherwise, before they'd all flooded into his home. But now, with how well everything was going, he couldn't help but feel... Odd; like the striped, unmatched sock of the family. There they all were, so full of life and warmth and happiness, as if they were a normal family, untouched by years of darkness. And here he was, still over thinking everything, and looking for a reason to be miserable.

Cass seemed to read his expression then, eyes going sad with sympathy. But no one had time to comment on the sudden mood shift, when the water in the pan began to bubble and hiss.

"Shit." Jason tried to find a clear path through the throng of people, the kitchen particularly cosy, chastised by Alfred for his language.

"I've got it, Jaylad." Bruce weaved easily, taking the pan off the hob before he was anywhere close.

"Nice reflexes, old man." Jason said, letting the tension go from his body a little.

Bruce gave him one of his looks. The one which read, well I _am_ Batman. It seemed the man was fluent in silence, communicating entirely through micro expressions. Jason was just shocked he still understood the language. For a long time, he thought only Dick and Alfred were able to crack the enigma which is Bruce Wayne.

Maybe Jason wasn't the only weird one of the family...

"I wouldn't trust him holding that for long." Alfred cautioned, always the voice of reason. "Master Bruce would be capable of setting fire to water."

Snorting a laugh, Jason took it from his hands carefully. They worked together, then, to slide the chopped potatoes into the pot without splashing any boiling water anywhere. And suddenly, Jason was 15 again, stood in the manor kitchen with his Dad, trying to make dinner. Alfred had left them to their own devices, for his yearly holiday to England. Two weeks of cold, grey weather; a home away from home.

Bruce had decided to try and follow one of Alfred's mother's recipes, and make stew for himself and Jason. After all, how badly could stew go?

Jason was notified of just how badly when he smelt the tomatoes burning all the way from his room, the far side of the manor. He'd quickly run through the house, seeking out the source of the smell, to salvage Bruce from his own disaster. How this man had coped in his years of travel, without Alfred, he'd never know...

They'd worked well together, proving the depth of their partnership outside of just Batman and Robin, as they cleaned up the mess and started the meal again from scratch. In the end, they'd followed Jason's own recipe. A kind of stew he'd made for his mother, with tinned tomatoes and baked beans, with carrots and potatoes chopped in. Of course, the manor's version had also included the exciting addition of paprika and chilli. Luxuries Jason could afford on rare occasions growing up. In truth, it was memories of these moments which had kept Bruce away from the kitchen after losing his son. Cooking alone was depressing, and cooking with company reminded him too much of Jason, and the way the kid's face would light up whenever what he made was a success. And it was _always_ a success. If only, because of the time spend together making it.

Maybe, just maybe, for Bruce at least, this was present enough.

***

To say the meal was a success... Was probably an overstatement. Despite Alfred at the wheel, the outcome of the cooking had been steered into many different directions by the family. The potatoes were done far too early, and the turkey far too late. The stuffing didn't fit in the Outlaws' oven, and the decision had been unanimous that Kori blasting it with starbolts was an absolutely terrible idea. But by mid afternoon, they were all sat down, spread out across the apartment due to it only officially possessing three chairs.

Alfred, of course, had the head of the table, with Damian sat on one side, with his bad ankle resting in Dick's lap beside him. The youngest of the family was still pushing his vegan turkey around his plate, still undecided on whether or not he wanted to take a bite. Especially with his father's involvement. Although, it still looked more tempting than the ever-growing pile of vegetables Richard kept loading onto his plate. The man was a health fanatic, who's love of broccoli couldn't be stopped. It was a wonder he hadn't dumped protein powder into his hot chocolate (as if the Outlaws would own any).

Bruce and Jason had the sofa, both doing a wonderful job of not spilling their piles of food as they tried to balance their plates in their laps. By now, Jason had also been wrangled into his own Christmas jumper. Another knitted number, red and green (Robin colours), the exact replica of the one Alfred had made him as a kid. He had to admit, the gift had made him a tad emotional - but he'd hid it well. Alfred just hoped he could snap a photo of the pair together, to compare to the original, of both father and son in their mirrored positions. It was fascinating, the mannerisms the pair still echoed of each other, despite their time apart. The hunch of their shoulders. The cross of their legs. The way they both tugged on the neck of their jumper, as if ready to shred it off their body the second they were allowed.

Kori, as literal royalty, had managed to win the contest for the armchair. While Roy, as her personal bumpkin, sat at her feet. They, too, hadn't managed to escape Alfred's mad jumper crusade; both in a set matching Jason's. Although, Kori's was a little tight on the shoulders. And unlike their matching counterpart, both seemed keen to keep their present on. To have been included was rather heart warming.

Cass and Tim had been stuck on the kitchen counter, finding a spot among the dirty pots and pans. Although, neither complained about their position, now at the highest point in the room. They liked to think it gave them some level of power and authority. Something rarely received as the middle children. Or at least, it meant they were closer to the radio, so they could pick the music; Tim connecting to the speakers via Bluetooth, and playing DJ with his co-conspirator. They'd already barred Dick from requesting Mariah Carey one more time. Currently, they were treating the family to Feliz Navidad, to which Jason was mumbling along to in perfect Spanish.

"This is real good turkey, Alfie." He announced as the song faded out, already halfway through his plate already.

"Thank you, Master Jason." Alfred preened under the compliment, knowing just how good his turkey was - though being too British to let it show.

"Yeah, this is great." Roy agreed through a mouthful.

"Your appetite rivals that of a Thanagarian Demon Hog." Kori commented.

"Heathens." Damian scowled, venturing his first bite of his own 'turkey'.

He had to admit, it was good. Better than the all too healthy nut roast Dick had forced on him last year. No amount of cranberry sauce and onion gravy could cover the taste of that. He was particularly thankful for Jason's involvement in the cooking this year.

Next to him, his eldest brother was laughing at his phone. "Babs says the food looks good! She wants a picture of us all in our jumpers, to send out as a Christmas card for next year."

She and her Dad were spending the holiday together, as usual. An offer had been extended to them both, of course, but Barbra had pointed out that there was already enough of them springing themselves on Jason (even if he often proclaimed her as his favourite member of the Bat-fam). Plus, there was something mutually uncomfortable about the idea of famous prince of the underworld, Red Hood, sitting in the same room as the literal police commissioner of Gotham City. Especially when they weren't quite sure how much Jim knew about the family. They'd never directly come out and said, "Hey, you know how you've never seen your good pal Bruce Wayne in the same room as your good pal Batman? Funny that." - but sometimes, the way he spoke, they couldn't be sure if he didn't have them all completely figured out.

"I'm drawing the line at photos." Jason grumbled.

"Spoil sport." Dick grinned, before turning to his old Titans friends. "So, I know we weren't exactly invited, but was the wonderful company and food worth the intrusion?"

Kori seemed to think about her answer before she said it. "I have been warned that it is traditional for one to fight with their family on this day, as you flock together to commemorate the winter." She paused, as if delivering royal speech, rather than answering a simple question. "But I feel we are defying it. I'm glad we've been brought together for the holidays."

Even if they _had_ already got food themselves. They planned to donate it to the local homeless shelter, after the festivities were over.

"The holidays are only good as the people you make it with." Roy said in agreement, taking her hand with hearts in his eyes.

"A toast." Bruce held up his ginger ale, echoing their words, "To the people who have been brought together, for these holidays."

"To shine brightest for each other," Kori smiled prettily, hot chocolate held high. "When the nights are longest."

Soon, everyone was cheers-ing around the room - more Thanksgiving, than Christmas, as they toasted their gratitude.

Jason raised his own glass of non-alcoholic Bucks Fizz (orange juice), tapping it against Bruce's. "Happy Hanukkah, Dad."

Bruce didn't even mind that the sentiment was a few days late.

***

"So, are we opening the rest of the presents after this, or watching a Christmas movie?" Tim asked the room, hopping back up onto the kitchen counter now the plates had been cleared away.

He took a sip of his hot apple drink as he waited for an answer. It tasted exactly like apple pie, with a hint of cinnamon (leftover from breakfast). Jason's very own creation.

"Oh, definitely presents!" Dick grinned, ever the kid. "I want lil D to see what I got for him-"

"Tt." Damian rolled his eyes. "I found the drawing pencils you so expertly hid at the back of your wardrobe. You need to find a better hiding place, Richard. How you've kept your identity a secret so long is beyond me."

"Ah," Dick grinned. "You found what I _wanted_ you to find."

Damian practically squawked, at the news he'd been bamboozled - which only made Dick look all the more satisfied.

"Well," He regained his composure quickly, eyebrows dipping in that familiar way to Bruce's. "I think it's only fair we wait for Jon before opening the presents. I have something I want to give him."

"Movie first, then." Alfred noted. "Although, deciding on one between you all is sure to result in all out _war_."

"Well, the obvious answer is Die Hard." Jason announced, as if he had any say in the matter, despite this being his home.

"Seconded." Roy agreed. "Although, I don't know if that's, y'know, age appropriate..."

He shut his mouth the second he caught the glare Damian sent him.

"What about Gremlins?" Tim smirked, shortly receiving an equally scathing death-glare, accompanied by a _literal_ growl.

"What about The Grinch?" Dick suggested instead. "What do you think, B?"

"I think, I'm only celebrating this holiday for you kids..." He admitted, thinking back to a time when this time of year meant making latkes and homemade apple sauce with Kate. "But if I wasn't... The right answer is Home Alone."

Cass nodded vigorously at that.

"You know, I've always been partial to It's a Wonderful Life." Alfred said thoughtfully. "On second thoughts, maybe we _should_ wait for Master Clark, as our decider."

"Alf, we all know you're just saying that because you know he'll agree with you." Jason grinned, well caught on to the man's tricks by now.

"Then clearly, he would be a man of impeccable taste."

There was a knock at the door then, as if right on cue. Then, it was a mad scramble to see who could get up before Alfred, to prevent the man from leaving his seat. In recent years, he had definitely become more a grandfather than a butler.

Jason made it first - even if he had to vault over the sofa to do it - narrowly missing kicking Bruce directly in the face in the process. Kori and Roy were close behind, the princess using her boyfriends to pull her along as she drifted. An odd habit she had taken up recently, that both of them found quite amusing (if not a little used).

"Hel-lo-" Jason began, pulling the door back.

He'd been expecting the towering frame of Superman at his front step, tinier son at his elbow. Instead, he came face to face with a figure wearing a black gas mask. He had barely any time to react, even to shout a warning, before their unexpected guest threw a handful of colourful red baubles into the room. Each one exploded in a cloud of toxic green gas on impact, filling the room with acrid smoke. The room was soon filled with it, so thick it filled the apartment from floor to ceiling, the only sound, the hacking coughs of the people hidden in the green mist.

When it finally lifted, everyone lay unconscious when they sat. Alfred, Dick, and Damian at the table. Cas and Tim on the counter. Bruce at the couch. And the Outlaws, collapsed at the door. And as they surveyed the scene, the figured laughed from behind their mask at their success - as Merry Christmas Everyone sang out from the radio.


	2. Super Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about that last chapter ending. I didn't want to spoil the plot twist in the tags though. However, I do plan to give warnings, as appropriate, before each chapter. Do feel free to call me out if you feel I've forgotten anything :)
> 
> This chapter is probably going to be a lot shorter than the last, because consistency is for nerds.
> 
> Warning: Unconsensual drug use mentioned.

Clark was in full Dad mode by the time they touched down on the pavement, round the corner from Jason's apartment. Jon was just about sick of him fussing over him, making sure he was warm enough. Making sure he had enough layers on, and his scarf wasn't crooked, and his coat was done up all the way, and were ripped jeans really the best idea in this weather? Barely any of his face could be seen, hidden by the all encompassing fur of his hood. All that was visible was his nose, turned a rosy pink from the cold, and his bright blue eyes. Also a single strand of curled black hair, which seemed to attract all the snowflakes. He looked absolutely adorable.

"Daaad, I'm _fine_." He whined, despite the fact he had definitely lost all feeling in his toes on the flight over.

The joys of only being half Kryptonian. It seemed red converse weren't really weather appropriate - made even worse by the slush on the Gotham streets.

"Even your brother is wearing gloves, Jon." Clark pointed out reasonably as they trekked through the snow.

Conner was a few paces behind, with his new headphones on. He'd decided to come along, just to annoy Tim for the day. Fortunately for him, he was blasting the Ramones, Merry Christmas (I Don't Want to Fight Tonight), too loudly to be dragged into the conversation.

"Kon's gloves don't even have fingers!" Jon pointed out reasonably.

Clark had to admit, he had him there.

Conner really wasn't dressed for the Winter at all, in his usual attire of red plaid trousers, a cut up Wendy the Werewolf Stalker tee, and the leather jacket auntie Kara had gifted him. Maybe he wasn't the best example to use for his brother. God forbid the day he began to copy him, dressing like the drummer of a 90's boyband. The colourful language Jon seemed to have picked up recently was already bad enough. At least Conner was wearing better footwear, with his yellow laced Docs.

"Come on, Jonno." Clark dragged him into his side. "I don't want to have to tell your Mom you caught a cold, because you wouldn't keep your hood up."

" _Fine_." He pouted - a habit he only seemed to have picked up more and more since hanging out more with Damian.

At least that did the trick. Threats of Lois always seemed to work - especially when she was the one who had brought him the coat. Clark had promised to snap lots of pictures to send her. He was glad they were able to remain friends. But then, they did have a lot of history between them. It would have been sad, to let that all go just because he'd realised he was attracted to men; something that hadn't seemed like an option, when he'd first arrived on the planet.

"Come on, Kon." Clark called back to his other kid. "Stop being unsociable."

"Huh?" Conner frowned, slipping off his headphones to hang round his neck, and jogging up to join them.

Things between Clark and Conner had (understandably) been very awkward at first. After all, how is one meant to act when they meet a clone that's half you, half the worst man on the planet? But after a while, given time to adjust, Conner had integrated well into the family; becoming like a second son to Clark, and a good big brother to Jon, too (even if he was officially younger, despite being in the body of a teenager). Family could take on many different definitions - as Bruce had shown him, with his never ending collection of children, each of whom he loved as his own.

"I said, stop being unsociable." Clark threw an arm across Conner's shoulders, too - careful to avoid the spikes of his leather jacket (even if they wouldn't have actually hurt him).

"Sorry. I thought you'd appreciate _that_ , over me playing my music out loud." He grinned.

He had a point there. Clark already put up enough with Bruce playing his punk records. But the man had also managed to get Tim into The Clash, which had got Conner into The Clash, which had led Conner to discovering the Ramones and the Sex Pistols, which had led to Clark never being able to escape the goddamn genre. Although, it was fun to know that Batman had had a rebellious punk phase in his teens. He just felt sorry for Alfred, for having to put up with it - being the one to have suggested the brilliant present of headphones. He planned to thank the man with his mother's Christmas pudding recipe (even if it was a little late to make one for the holiday this year).

Reaching the building, Clark checked his phone one last time; to read over the text Bruce had sent him with his son's address, to confirm once again that they had the right place. He hadn't heard anything since then, really hoping that meant that it had gone well; everyone having too much fun to keep him updated! The alternative made him slightly tentative, as he let go of his kids to climb the stairs running up the back of the building, grip firm on the handrail. He decided to take the lead - just in case - with Jon behind him, and Kon behind Jon, in case he happened to slip on the steps. Not that he couldn't have stopped himself from falling if he did. The whole _flying_ thing was very useful sometimes.

The first sign that something was wrong, as he reached the top of the stairs, was the front door, and the fact it lay open. No one left their door unlocked in Gotham, yet alone wide open. Not if they wanted to stay alive - or at least keep all of their possessions (and even then, a locked door didn't always stop people). And inside, past the threshold, it was deadly, deadly quiet. The only sound audible (to those with super hearing), were twin heartbeats. There were two people in the apartment, alive and breathing - but that was all. Clark felt his own heart seize in his chest, knowing that there was something very, very wrong here.

"Babe?" Conner called into the room, pushing past to get inside, before Clark could stop him.

He was just about to follow the boy in, when he felt a tug at his sleeve. Looking down, his son had taken his hood off now, and was looking up at him with wide, terrified eyes.

"Stay here, kiddo." Clark instructed, lips pursed. "I'll check it out..."

Not wanting to leave his son, but needing to protect him for whatever sight might lay ahead, he walking into the Outlaws' apartment, steeling himself against whatever he might discover. The first thing which hit him, was the smell; a home cooked roast dinner, and battery acid. The latter made his nostrils curl, particularly pungent, with his Kryptonian DNA. The next thing he took note of, was the state of the place. The tree in the corner, with its carefully hung baubles, a mountain of presents sitting underneath. The tinsel and the fairy lights adorning all surfaces of the room. The washing up piled neatly, to be done, by the sink. If not for the smell, and the remnants of smashed baubles on the floor (and the open front door), nothing would seem amiss.

"Hey, guys!" Conner called out to them suddenly, alerting them of the first real sign of trouble.

He couldn't stop Jon from following him then, as they turned into the kitchen to see what was wrong. There, they found Conner helping up two familiar faces. Koriand'r, Clark recognised straight away. The glowing green eyes were a bit of a giveaway. Roy Harper, it took him just a moment longer; looking quite different with long hair - especially when he wasn't wearing one of his goofy baseball hats. He rushed to their aid instantly, helping them climb to their feet.

"What happened?" Jon asked, desperately, just behind his father. "Where is everyone?"

"Let's get you sat down." Clark took charged, seeing that the pair were in no state to start answering their questions yet. "Jon, can you fetch them some water, please?"

"Sure." He skidded off, filled with nervous energy, and the need to help.

From there, Clark and Conner helped lead them to the worn, second hand sofa, avoiding the broken bits of bauble as best they could. The pair looked uninjured, though were clearly both out of it. Drugged, most likely, if the size of their pupils was any indication. Roy looked the worst of the two, clammy and pale, as though about to throw up. Although, Kori didn't look a whole lot better, with the way her whole body seemed to tremble.

"Fuck..." Roy was the first to speak, head in his hands - too out of it to even think about the fact he'd just sworn in front of _Superman_.

"Are you two alright?" Clark pulled up a chair opposite them, taking a seat, with Conner at his shoulder.

"We will be." Kori answered for them both, accepting the water Jon brought to them gratefully. "Thank you."

"What happened here?" Conner asked, a lot more gently than his brother.

"I do not know... We had just finished our meal, and were waiting for your arrival. The last thing I remember, is someone knocking at the door, and then..." She made a 'poof' motion with her hands, still shaking terribly.

" _Fuck_." Roy swore again, for emphasis - which made Jon's eyes go wide, in a manor which would have been comical, if not for the situation.

"Do you know who did this?" Clark pressed.

"No... But, they took everyone." Kori looked so very, very upset then - only making the worry gnaw at him further.

Who exactly did 'everyone' entail? Bruce? His kids? _Alfred_?

He went to ask, before his attention was caught by something...

If the way the room fell quiet suddenly was any indication, his kids seemed to have heard it, too. It sounded like... A voice, completely and utterly broken. A voice he knew, inside and out, as well as he knew himself. A voice so familiar, that it lived inside his very heart, and made his chest ache. A voice alone, and afraid, and shouting for-

_"Superman."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon is so so baby, and owns my whole heart. I would formally like to adopt one sweet summer child. That is all.


	3. Here Comes Santa Claus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Unconsensual drug use (Joker gas, if we wanna get specific).  
> Also Jason almost has a bad panic attack.  
> Also also, Tim throws up (it's quite graphic).  
> Also also also, canon typical threats of violence.

Jason - surprisingly - woke up first. Whether due to his size - meaning his body processed the toxin faster - or because he had built up some level of immunity, as a result of so many run-ins with the Joker, he was still not with it enough to further a guess. Although, he knew almost instinctually that that was who had them. Call it experience; the clown's gas always leaving a disgusting taste in his mouth, like he'd been gargling pennies. A taste he was unfortunately all too familiar with. It made his heart beat uncomfortably hard in his chest now. Although, there was something extra to it this time, like it had been given an Christmas twist; the zing of peppermint caught in his throat.

He took in the room slowly, through the pounding in his skull. Thankfully, the only thing lighting the room, were the fairy lights strung round the edge - red, and green, and yellow, and blue. Dim enough not to make his head hurt further. He was certain any bright lights right now would surely make him feel worse (if that was possible).

What lights there were, however, allowed him to see enough of the room to realise it was some sick parody of Santa's grotto. The walls had all been blackout out, with heavy sheets of fabric. Meaning even if there were windows, Jason couldn't see them. Which also meant that he had no way of knowing what time of day it was - or whether it was even still Christmas. Although, he had a feeling it was. Why go to all the effort of the holiday aesthetic, otherwise?

The table before him was wrapped in plastic. And that was quite worrying in itself. Whoever it was who'd taken them (and he was pretty sure he knew who that was by now) thought that things were going to get messy. Although, he couldn't imagine Joker going to all this effort - obviously not working alone then, probably with a band of hench-people. There was something amusing, in imagining the man commanding his own team of criminals to pin up the drapes, and hanging the lights, and placing all the chairs around the table _just so_ ; like a soccer mom, working behind the scenes to set up the yearly school nativity. But his display hadn't stopped there...

There was also a gingerbread house, set up before him; the centrepiece of the table. And it had been designed and decorated to be a near exact replica of Wayne manor. Even in the years since he had been there, Jason recognised the house instantly. But there was something so off about seeing his old home displayed like this; only adding to the anxiety in his heart.

"Jason..." A voice groaned, groggy and confused.

Bruce. The next person to regain consciousness.

"B?" Jason hated how desperate he sounded at not being alone.

Guess that's what the thought of the Joker can do to a guy.

"I'm here, son." Bruce swore to him, though didn't sound very confident himself.

Right now, he wasn't Batman, dark Knight, protector of Gotham; he was Bruce Wayne, concerned Dad of five. And after a quick head count, he could see that their mysterious kidnapper had taken just about the whole family. Dick, and Tim, and Cassandra, and Damian, and even Alfred. Each slumped over, with a Christmas hat placed carefully atop their head. Although, as of yet, Jason and Bruce were the only ones awake.

"B, I think I know who's doing this-" Jason began, but cut himself off when he realised, suddenly, that they weren't alone.

The man with the gas mask had come back, moving around in the shadowed corners of the room. Jason fell silent, at his arrival, hands clenching at the arms of the chair he was tied do. He might dig furrows into the wood, if he he wasn't careful. Which only reminded him further of the last time he'd found wood splinters under his nails... 

His stress was only brought to new levels when their captor came to a stop behind him, breath rattling menacingly behind the gas mask.

"Mr. Wayne." The man spoke, voice muffled to the point of being unrecognisable. "I'd like to say it's nice to make your acquaintance." 

"Get away from my son." He threatened in response, more Batman than Brucie with one of his children on the line. 

"I should probably introduce myself." The man ignored him, laying a hand on Jason's shoulder, as if to make a point.

Jason froze under his hand, green eyes wide and terrified. His whole frame went stiff, trying not to look anywhere but his father's face - as if begging for salvation. Taking in every detail, in the hopes of letting it distract him from an oncoming panic attack. Bruce's ice blue eyes. Broken nose, from one too many fights as Batman. Greying temples and black hair. Day old stubble. All the things that culminated into his _Dad_.

But struggle as he might against the ropes that bound him, the man he studied couldn't do a thing to help him. Jason hated, more than anything, that the Joker could make him feel like this; that he still had this much power over him, after all these years. And here he was, ruining his life again, just when he thought he could be happy. Things had been going so goddamn well.

"I don't care who you are." Bruce kept his eyes locked on Jason. "Just don't hurt my kids." 

The others were beginning to stir now - other than Alfred, which was extremely worrying. Just in time to see their captor take off his gas mask, to reveal the face beneath. He peeled the thing off slowly, as if to let the tension in the room grow. Gripping it from the bottom, he slipped it from his face, taking in the unfiltered air in the room with a gasp.

Jason felt the breath on his ear. And has he heard the mask drop to the floor with a heavy _thunk_ , he felt his own breathing grow ragged - made even worse, by the fact that the man was stood behind him. Meaning he was the only who couldn't see his face. He was left to imagine the scraggly green hair, and the patchy white makeup, and the too wide smile. The shrill voice, and that _laugh_...

Dick spoke first, frowning, "Julian Day?"

Wait... That wasn't right...

"The very same." Julian smiled, sounding nothing at all like the Joker, now the mask wasn't muffling his voice. "I'd like to start by wishing you all a Merry Christmas!"

Bruce snorted at the sentiment, unable to help himself.

Julian Day. Calendar man. The last time Batman had had a run in with him, was over 10 years ago, back when Dick was still Robin. He had been killing women, posed as calendar girls; one a month, for the duration of the year. It had taken them until November to catch him, seemingly no pattern to his choice of victims (aside from all being female). Julian had been looking to make a name for himself; to improve his reputation as nothing but a _joke_ to the other Rogues. He had done that, and then some. Dick still had nightmares about Miss March, who turned up on the first day of Spring. Dick's birthday.

The question now though was, was he after them as the Bats? Or as the Wayne's?

"You wanna be careful, Julie." Jason tried to control his breathing, determined to be the asshole now he knew he was safe (or safer). "You start using gas, and people are going to think you're someone else."

"Interesting concoction, isn't it?" Julian moved away from him then, circling the table like a vulture, from kid to kid. "Recipe was given to me by my neighbour at Arkham. Interesting fellow."

"Yeah, that's one name for him." Jason rolled his eyes, royally pissed off now.

"You may find it interesting to know," He continued his strolled. "He was actually the one who suggested I use you lovely people for my Big Christmas Surprise. Though, heavens knows why. Just said you had a history. Maybe you know what that means?"

Why, was probably due to the fact that the Joker knew exactly who they were. Jason had been the one to drop that secret on accident - after being on the receiving end of the mad clown's crowbar, begging for his Dad to save him. Another tally against him as the black sheep of the family, in his long list of failures. Or that's how he saw it, at least. Of course, he was the _only_ one who saw it that way. He wondered sometimes, if that's why the Joker had finished the job; for ruining the big secret, and spoiling his fun.

They were just lucky, that although Joker liked using the knowledge to mess with them, he would never actually tell anyone; that Bruce Wayne is Batman. If he did that, then all the _fun_ would be over. If he did that, then he couldn't orchestrate situations like one they were currently in - despite still being trapped within the walls of Arkham. He must have known Julian was getting out, and had decided to utilise him. Which Jason figured, when it came down to it, made all this his fault, too.

"What's the ' _big Christmas surprise_ '?" Dick asked, blue eyes bleary and unfocused.

Behind Jason and Bruce, he was probably the next person with the most Joker experience. Which meant he was more used to asking questions through such a compromised state than his other siblings. But he didn't have to put on an act of being disorientated and nauseous here. He hated having this lack of control over his own body. Especially when his family were in danger.

"Well, it wouldn't be so much of a surprise if I told you now, would it?" Julian passed Dick, coming to a stop behind Damian, which made everyone twitchy.

Although, unlike the rest of them, the kid looked more murderous than scared. Eyebrows furrowed, and mouth drawn down in such an in-character display of annoyance - even with the way he was shaking.

Now, Jason had a clear view of the man, and he found himself surprised by what he saw. Julian Day was so... Normal. Not a colourful Rogue, with his own goofy costume. Just a normal looking guy, in black trousers and a red dinner jacket. A bald man, with disproportionately tiny eyes, and thin lips. Slightly over dressed, but otherwise, nothing really out of the ordinary. Which just unsettled Jason further. Your standard, Gotham grown psychopath.

"Now, I wasn't expecting you all to wake up so soon. But we work with what we've got... And for the next stage of my plan, I only need _one_ of you. But the question is, which one?" Julian moved on again, making them all release a collectively held breath.

That was, until he slipped a knife from his pocket as he went, the blade glittering under the fairy lights. When he moved, Jason also noticed that the lining of his jacket was patterned like the torn leaves of a calendar. So maybe his initial thoughts had been incorrect. This man _did_ belong in Batman's catalogue of Rogues. After all, he did have a flare for the dramatic.

"I volunteer." Bruce put himself forward instantly. "Just don't hurt my-"

" _My kids. My kids._ " Julian taunted, voice cruel and mocking. "No, you won't gain the kind of sympathy I need, Mr. Wayne. But your _kids_... Are perfect."

He kept fiddling with the knife as he walked, the blade flashing red, and green, and yellow, and blue under the lights - reminding Dick of the last person he'd used a similar weapon on. He hoped, more than anything, that that he wouldn't find his siblings the same way. Just like Miss March...

"Not this one. My roommate has already _claimed_ him." Julian found himself back by Jason, running over the letter carven into his cheek, just below his eye, with the pad of his thumb. "We both know that 'J' isn't for Julian."

Jason held his eyes shut tight, trying to focus on not panicking again. Especially after he'd only just pulled himself together. This was a big reminded of the kind of attention he hated. The reason he didn't like people taking in all the broken pieces of him - like the white streak in his hair, and the scars from the crowbar and his subsequent autopsy, and the Joker's initial carved into his cheek. The closest had been Roy and Kori, of course. But even then, it had take quite some time to get as comfortable with them as his had. To allow them to be his home. And now, he had no idea where they were - or if they were even still alive.

Green eyes snapped open.

"The man and woman we were with - the red heads - where are they?" Jason demanded, not caring for Calendar Man's games. "What did you do with them?"

"Oh, nothing. Nothing." Julian finally let go, drifting to his other shoulder. "I didn't need them. They're nobodies. Unlike _this_ little squirt..."

His next stop was Tim, pausing with his hands resting on the kid's shoulders. A sick parody of the portrait of the kid with his mother, Janet Drake, which had once hung over the mantel of their fireplace. The point of Julian's knife was awfully close to his neck. Tim was sure to draw blood, if he even flinched. And he looked like he would do worse than that at any moment; the colour drained from his already pale face, as though, any moment, he would-

"I'm going to throw up." Tim announced, black bangs plastered to his forehead, face beaded with sweat.

It seemed that the gas they'd inhaled hadn't mixed well after eating so much food. And Julian only just stepped out the way in time, flinching back, as it made a sudden reappearance; Tim hunching over the side of the chair as his entire Christmas dinner splattering against the floor. He retched painfully, not feeling any better for it.

Cass, sat beside him, reached out on instinct to take her brother's hand. He felt clammy, and cold, but she wouldn't let go for all the world. He squeezed back, in gratitude, trying to blink away the tears brimming in his eyes as slowly sat up again. The taste in his mouth was now even worse - if that was even possible. He could even wipe his lip, where a trace of sick still remained.

"Not you, then." Julian moved on without another word, over the practically audible sound of Bruce grinding his teeth - desperate to go to his son.

Running a hand through Cass' hair as he came to a stop by his next target, Julian took note of the way she didn't even flinch at the touch. Her body language gave nothing away. Although, to those that knew her, they could see the hardness that had set to her jaw; already calculating every single way she could take him down, in defence of hurting her family. If only she could get free...

"What about Bruce Wayne's only daughter?" Julian considered with interest. "His little princess..."

The knife traced her jaw, causing Tim to squeeze her hand harder. Julian seemed to ponder the decision for an all too long moment, and they all feared that she would be his final choice. To suffer whatever 'surprise' he had planned. 

"A fair contender." He warned, before stepping back to flick the pompom at the end of her Christmas hat.

Finally, he moved on, taking the knife with him, causing every to deflate a little in relief. Although, it didn't mean her neck was off the chopping block...

Julian dismissed Bruce, walking straight past him, and Alfred beside him, too. The old man still hadn't regained consciousness - the only sign that he was still alive, the steady rise and fall of his chest. He had obviously taken a higher dose than everyone else, and wasn't out crime fighting enough nights to have built up an immunity. No one felt any better when he ignored them to stop next at Dick.

"Bruce Wayne's eldest, Dickie Grayson." Julian leant over his shoulder, almost cheek to cheek, knife waving above his heart. "Maybe a little old now, to tug at the audience's heart strings. But then, what I wouldn't enjoy, messing up that pretty face."

"If you lay a hand on Richard," Damian threatened, seemingly coming alive at someone threatening _his_ Batman. "I swear, I'll-"

"You'll _what_?" Julian turned his attention from the oldest to the youngest, far more amused than intimidated. "Oh aren't you so precious, thinking you can threaten me, while you're trussed up like the holiday ham?"

Jason's heart clenched again, then. He felt for all his siblings. Of course he did. But of all of them, Damian had been his first responsibility. The first kid he'd played big brother to. They'd met in the League, at a time when Jason was basically catatonic - before he'd taken a dip in the Lazarus pit. He'd trained with the kid, and patched up his injuries, and had been brothers in arms - even before he'd learned that they really were _brothers_ ; sharing Talia for a mother, and Bruce for a father.

The knife made it's reappearance, as Julian pushed off Dick's shoulders to stalk over to the kid. Tugging his head back by the hair, he tapping the blade against Damian's cheek. In the same place Joker had carved his mark on Jason. Damian didn't move a muscle. He didn't dare - not betraying a single emotion. Although, the corner of his mouth did twitch downward for just a moment. Enough of a tell to have his family itching in their seats.

Damian was too drugged up to play the part of scared little kid (as would be expected of the Wayne's). Although, that didn't mean he was too happy about his situation, either.

"The baby, or the princess." Julian pondered, knife tapping. "Who to choose? Who to choose..."

Julian caught sight of the cast on Damian's ankle then, and practically gasped. It seemed his decision had been made.

"Oh, perfect! Perfect!" Julian finally removed the knife, clapping his hands together in joy. "That's sure to tug at the heartstrings. Yes, yes. You'll do."

"No." Bruce shifted in his chair, pushing against the ropes again. "No, don't you dare."

"Oh, I dare." Julian grinned, delicate hands landing on the back of Damian's chair, knife still tucked into his palm.

"What are you going to do with him?" Dick grit out, struggling valiantly.

"Hmm..." He considered for a moment, as if about to tell them, before replying, "No. Actually, I don't think I'll ruin the surprise _just_ yet. Say goodbye to baby!"

With that, he then took a firmer grip on the back of Damian's chair, tipping it so he could drag the kid back away from the table. Even Alfred began to stir then, at the family's shouts for their youngest member. But it wasn't enough to stop what happened next, as Julian, dragged the chair across the floor, making a terrible grating sound. He ignored all the cries, and please from the Wayne's, even as Damian began to struggle, unable to hold back his distress any longer. Although it was no use, what with his wrist and good ankle tired to the arms and legs of the chair.

The last they saw, was Damian disappearing through the doors, before they slammed shut behind him. And with it, all sound of his threats and protests were cut off.

Not knowing what else to do - his youngest facing an unknown fate - in a moment of desperation, Bruce found himself screaming for, _"Superman!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, to those who celebrate it! And have the best Friday you can, if you don't (what's left of it, anyway) :)


	4. But it's Not Like Christmas At All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost at the end now! Originally did plan to have this finished /before/ the 25th, but we move!
> 
> Warning: Mentions of Tim throwing up (but he doesn't actually do it again).  
> Mentions of major character death (but it's Jason, so IDK if that counts???)

Jason's heart was in his throat. He hadn't taken his eyes off the doors, not since Damian had been taken. His vision had gone down to a pinprick, edged with green, with those at its centre. He barely noticed the conversation happening around him, thoughts too busy spiralling to process the murmur of voices.

"Don't worry about me, dear boy." Alfred shook off Bruce's worries. "I'll soldier on."

"Humph." Bruce accepted the answer - but looked none too happy about it, limps pursed.

He was just glad that Alfred had woken up at all; the first in his rollcall, as he checked in with each family member at the table. Who knew how they'd survive without him, the longstanding pillar of the family? But Alfred wasn't the only one he had to worry about...

"Tim," He frowned, worried eyes turned next on him, usually a lot better at this. "How're you... Are you..."

"I'm not good." Tim shook his head, still holding firmly to his sister's hand. "But I'll manage. Could really with a drink of water, though."

He looked like he might vomit again, any moment. Still pale, and sweating, but a bit more with it than he'd been before. At least the drug's affects seemed to be wearing off - leaving only the taste of peppermint behind. They all knew that a number of Joker's concoctions had much, _much_ consequences. In some respects, they'd got off lucky. He'd much rather that he was left sick, instead of laughing.

"And Cass?"

She gave her Dad a thumbs up, and little reassuring smile. But it didn't make Bruce feel particularly reassured. He could tell that she was wishing that Julian had chosen her for whatever he had planned; the princess, not the baby. He could tell, because her expression perfectly echoed his; that he'd also wished he'd been the one to be taken, over the place of any of his children.

In another life, Cass would have been the bodyguard of the Al Ghul's; born and raised for that purpose. And in this life, she had failed at that one job.

The family had a horrible habit of blaming themselves for everything.

He tried to give her a reassuring smile back - but even better than him, she could easily read through it.

"Dick?" Bruce asked next, needing to keep distracted by focusing on the family he _could_ see.

His eldest worried his bottom lips between his teeth, almost to the point of bleeding. His eyes flicked to the door, as the question was asked. His whole body was tense with anxiety, hating being kept still for so long. So much for a distraction.

"I'm worried for Dami." Dick admitted, the first one to really acknowledge what had happened.

First, he'd let Damian get hurt on patrol the other night, with his ankle. The first time in a long time it had been just the two of them, before things had taken a turn for the worst. And now this... Another player of the self-blame game.

Bruce sighed, releasing his hands from where they'd been clenched into tight fists. The second he did so, he found Cass wrapping her pinky round his; the closest she could get to reach him, with their wrists still tied. He didn't realise how much he appreciated the gesture. But she knew.

"I know, son." Bruce found his voice thick with his own worry. "I know..."

He turned to their final, silent member, then. And the second he did, he regretted not checking in sooner. Jason's whole body was trembling. He was white knuckling the arms of the chair, pushing on the ropes round his arms to the point it must surely _hurt_. His breathing was shallow, and far too fast - but absolutely silent, like he didn't want attention brought to it. His eyes were fixed on the door, which Bruce himself had his back to, and he could swear his irises seemed a little more _green_ than usual...

 _Shit_.

"Jay-" He began, before the sounds of a scuffle broke out the other side of the doors, interrupting him before he could get any further.

It must have been loud, for them to hear it, considering the room was near sound proof. It only ticked up the anxiety they all felt to 10. Made only worse, when the doors practically exploded outwards, as if kicked off their hinges by some mighty force. The noise was so sudden, and unexpected, a collective flinch practically rippled across the table.

Bruce tried to turn in his chair, letting go of his daughter's hand, to see what trouble had come to them now. But as he craned his neck round as far as he could, his heart felt like it grew two sizes in his chest. The cavalry had arrived.

There was Clark. Beautiful, ethereal Clark. Never more a God, than in that moment. And Bruce saw, once again, why people worshiped Superman, as he touched down ever so gently at the entrance to the room. Bruce planned to worship him every day, over and over, until he knew just how much he loved him.

He remembered a time, briefly, when all that power had scared him. But that wasn't a feeling that had lasted long - not when you _knew_ Clark. The man was just... Good. The very definition of the word. He was apple pies, and morning sunlight, and _home_.

But he wasn't alone. At his right, stood Connor - the emblem of teen rebellion - eyes blazing red. And to his left, the Outlaws; Roy and Kori, weapons drawn and at the ready. The partners his children had chosen. And he was glad for it now, seeing the protective rage which burnt in their eyes, ready to tear down the walls (or at least the door) for their loved ones. Maybe, he considered, as he took in the sight before him now, the original shovel talk hadn't been needed after all?

And fronting the group, was a sight which almost made Bruce crumble then and there. Jon and Damian, safe and unharmed. Jon was smiling, as he always seemed to be - all rosy cheeks, and bright eyes - the 'S' of his family standing proudly on his chest. And on his back, he was carrying Damian, the boy like a koala, with his arms wrapped tightly over his best friend's shoulders, and good leg wrapped round his waist. His face - olive skin and green eyes - peaked out from over Jon's shoulder, pissed off as ever, but so very much _alive_...

Clark darted round them, instantly at Bruce's side, worry creasing his features. His hand was soft as it covered Bruce's, thumb rubbing gently at his wrist, by the place the ropes had rubbed. Affectionate.

"My family first." Bruce instructed - still a worried parent, first and foremost, not even letting himself enjoy this moment.

"Of course, dear."

Clark didn't need to be told twice, darting off, first to Dick, then to Alfred. He stayed with the old man, helping him stand on still shaky legs, taking the time to check in with his father-in-law.

Conner, behind him, went straight to Tim the second his saw him. He threw an arm around both him and Cass, planting a kiss at his boyfriend's temple, as he squeezed them both tightly. His friends leant into the contact, glad for it after how the day had gone.

"You stink, babe." Conner informed him with a warm smile.

"Missed you, too, Kon." Tim grinned. "Mind untying us?"

"Oh. Sure." Conner got to work, releasing Cass first, then Tim.

Jon, the third and final Kryptonian, brought Damian right to Bruce's side, setting him down gently.

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Batman." Jon grinned, and Bruce didn't even have it in his heart to correct him (or chastise about names in the field).

The second he was free, he stood to scoop both boys - Damian _and_ Jon - into the tightest bear hug. Damian harrumphed, uttering out his usual little 'tt', although didn't push away. Both kids let themselves be held, Bruce not sure he ever wanted to let his kids go, taking note of his son's tiny hands latching onto his shirt. He decided to stay like that for as long as they'd let him, Damian seemingly needing it as much as he did (and Jon just glad to be included).

But, of course, his youngest wasn't the only one he'd been worried about...

Dick was at his side next, encompassing the trio with all his familiar warmth. Then came Tim and Cass, who snuck in where they could, ducking under arms to be with their family. They all joined the embrace, with Jon and Damian in the middle, Bruce's arms stretched around as many of his children as he could manage; the fact they were all alive and together, the biggest Christmas miracle. Bruce felt as though he should say something, but as usual, there weren't enough words to express everything he was feeling.

But as he looked out over their heads, he couldn't help but let his attention drift to the kid still missing.

Over the other side of the table, the Outlaws were fussing over Jason; soft with him, in a way he was never otherwise treated. Because if they had thought Jason burning his finger cooking pancakes was bad, enduring this had been agony for them. Kori was checking him over with gentle fingers, searching for injuries. And Roy was sat in a low crouch, speaking to him in a private whisper, as if only the three of them existed in all the world. But there was something distant in their body language as well - trying to give him space, despite their need to comfort him, and make sure he was alright. And clearly, he wasn't.

"Alright, alright. I'm fine." Jason brushed them off not entirely unkindly, climbing to his feet. "Where's Calendar Man?"

"He's taken care of." Kori promised, still treating him with such tenderness, despite his tone.

"I'll be the judge for that." He grit out, already making for the doors. "Get my family home."

"Jaybird-" Roy began, following him in an instant.

" _Please_." Jason cut him off.

He looked into their eyes, hoping they could understand. Hoping he could _make_ them understand, through just expression alone.

"I just... _Shit_. I just need some fresh air." He deflated, in no place to fight them right now.

He needed space. And to be alone. And to have no one looking at him, or touching him, or even acknowledging his existent right now.

But it seemed he wouldn't _have_ to fight them...

"Take all the time you need." Kori said, voice rich with sympathy and understanding. "We'll take care of your family."

"We'll be here when you're read." Roy promised."

Jason could always count on them. His friends. His Outlaws.

Against their better judgement, they agreed to let him go.

***

Calendar man was unconscious when Bruce found him, lying in this morning's snow. He didn't know who'd knocked him out - the Outlaws or the Supers - but the man didn't respond as he approached. Not helpful, when he needed answers.

Although not currently conscious, they'd made sure to zip tie Julian's hands before him. Incapacitated and taken care of, ready for the cops arrival. Bruce wondered if they'd been called already, and were on their way right now - which meant he should probably get going, if he didn't want to hang around to be questioned by the police. But he just _had_ to do this first.

Bruce kicked the man in the side, once, not particularly hard. Julian groaned at the impact, shaky and pale already, from the snow soaking his jacket. Maybe not unconscious, then, but only just beginning to come round. He stayed face down all the same, teeth grit to keep them from chattering.

"Mr. Day." Bruce nudged him again with the toe of an expensive shoe. "I've got questions."

Now he'd left the little Santa's grotto Julian had made for them, he could see that they had been held in some abandoned warehouse. That made sense. Gotham had plenty to choose from, lining the dock. The salty air was more obvious now he was outside the building, now that the cloying sent of pennies and peppermint weren't clogging his system. He was glad to be out of that dark room; previously the warehouse's office, and into the fresh air. Although, outside wasn't a whole lot brighter. It was dark, and cold. Night time, lit only by far away streetlights, which illuminated his breaths as they fogged the air. Maybe it was even still Christmas?

"Ask away." Julian grumbled, not wanting to be kicked in the ribs again.

Bruce took a moment to arrange his thoughts, before deciding on his first question. "How did you find us? My son's address isn't exactly public knowledge. And you couldn't have pre-planned abducing us from there, either. _I_ didn't even know we were all going to be there."

"Actually..." Julian rolled onto his side, pushing himself up awkwardly into a sitting position, agonisingly slow. "It helped me that you were. I was beginning to lose hope. Couldn't snatch you all from the manor, what with your level of security. But that was the only place you were sure to be all together. But then, miracle of all miracles, it comes to the big day, and you decide to pack the whole family into a car - butler and all - and drive to a crappy little apartment in the worst part of town. A place with absolutely _no_ security."

No security? Bruce would have to talk Jason about that. When his son was in the right mind to do so, of course. Now was very much not the time.

"I decided to wait, to scope the place out." Julian informed him, clearly liking the sound of his own voice. "Bide my time, and pick the best possible moment to make my entrance. You all looked like you were having so much _fun_."

Bruce clasped his hands behind his back, trying to keep a hold of himself to avoid hitting something. This was... A lot to process.

"And your big surprise?" He asked instead, every line of his body tense. "You've failed now. You might as well tell me what it was."

"Mightn't I?" Julian smirked, which was all too suspicious in itself. "I didn't hurt him - just threatened him a little. I needed your boy as leverage, while I made my demands. Your audience is more likely to give you what you want, when something small and cute is on the line."

Bruce really had to control himself from not hitting him then. "And your demands?"

"A little Christmas gift for myself. I wanted Batman to give himself up to me, by the stroke of midnight - _or else_." He shrugged, still smiling.

"Or else?" Bruce pushed, _really_ not liking the sound of that.

"Or else, you and your family go _boom_. With the bomb I planted in your little gingerbread manor." Julian informed him matter-of-factly. "And since I never got what I want for Christmas, even if there _is_ some time between now and midnight, you might be interested to know that your little Super friends didn't take the detonator off me, either. All I have to do is press a button on my watch..." He raised his bound hands, revealing the watch, as if to prove a point.

Oh, that wasn't good. That wasn't very good at all. But at least the family were out now - Clark, and Kon, and Jon, and Roy, and Kori bringing them all back to the manor. To safety.

Except... Jason hadn't stayed with them. He'd walked off. Left the room in search of fresh air, the second he knew everyone was safe. This had been quite a triggering experience for him, and he needed to get out. Which no one could blame him for. Except now, it meant that he could still be inside. With a bomb.

Bruce's insides turned to ice. He was suddenly taken back 7 years, to Ethiopia, to the last time there was warehouse, and a bomb, and his son - lying dead in his arms. Except this time, instead of a ticking clock, there's a button, with Julian's finger hovering over. Leaving him no chance to fight the device off him - not without the help all his trusty tricks and gadgets - once again at the mercy of a plan concocted by the Joker.

His feet were moving in an instant, as memories of the last time he lost Jason flashed through his head, like a movie reel of all his worst nightmares. He'd barely reached the door, however, before Julian pressed the button. Bruce never had a chance.


	5. White Christmas

The force of the blast made Jason drop his cigarette. He stumbled half a step forward, before catching himself. His heart was beating double time in his chest, at the sudden boom, followed by the heat at his back.

"Shit." He swore, over the ringing in his ears.

Turning, Jason saw a plume of smoke rising from the roof. All the windows had been shattered by the blast, flames now dancing in their panes. It seemed the explosion had been contained, at least, enough for the walls to still be standing (although, how structurally sound the building was, was probably still up for debate). Otherwise, Jason would have been flattened. And he had no intention of dying in _another_ warehouse explosion.

He had gone round to the back of the building, to find somewhere he could be alone. To enjoy the fresh, night air, letting the chill of the snow bring him back to life a little. But apparently, he wouldn't be allowed even a second of peace, the detonation catching him off guard. But at least, he knew his family were safe. He'd seen their Super friends jet them back to the manor like a relay, Roy protesting the entire time he was in Kori's arms (which had cheered Jason up by a mile).

Except... He never saw Bruce leave. Meaning the man had stayed behind. To wait for him, maybe? Or, more likely, do his own interrogation of Calendar Man.

" _Shit_." Jason swore again, breaking off in a sprint.

His heart was in his throat as he darted to the entrance of the warehouse. He almost slipped in the snow as he ran, slushy, with the salt which had been put down. For a moment, he thought it had began snowing again, as white flakes fell from the sky. But that dream was quickly shattered, when he discovered that it wasn't another flurry - it was _ash_. The realisation spurred him on faster...

Reaching the front of the building, Jason skidded to a stop. There was Calendar Man - Julian Day - lying in the snow. He was sat up, cackling wildly, and Jason had to remind himself that the man's dinner jacket was red - not purple.

He stormed over to Julian, lifting him by the lapels, to snarl, "What the hell did you do? What the _hell_ did you _do_?"

The man didn't stop laughing, only pausing long enough to giggle out, "My surprise."

Jason didn't have time for this. He dropped Julian (more threw) back to the ground, rounding on the building. Inside, was an inferno. He could feel the heat on his face, and through his clothes. He wondered, for a moment, if this was what Bruce had seen - back in Ethiopia. It made him feel sick to his stomach, at the way their roles had been reversed.

"Bruce?" He called out, knowing that he would more than likely have to go in there. "Br- _Dad_?"

No reply. _Fuck_. Steeling himself, trying to ignore the way his breathing had increased, he moved quickly to the doorway. Inside, it was like peering through the gates of hell. Flames licked the walls, a dangerous electrical smell to the smoke in the air. Jason was just preparing himself to run in to that hell, aware of how much time he'd already waste, when two figures appeared before him - like angels, backed by a wall of fire. Bruce and Clark.

Jason's breathing practically stopped.

Superman had an arm round Bruce's waist, supporting him out of the building. At this distance, Jason took note of the ash on his face, and the cut on his forehead - but that seemed to be the limit of his injuries. That he could see, anyway.

Jason ran to them, the second they were close enough, taking his Dad's other side. He slipped under the man's arm, like he belonged there.

"Jason?" Bruce said, before he broke into a fit of ugly coughing.

"I'm here, old man." Jason promised.

"I thought you were... Still inside." He wheezed, which didn't sound very healthy at all.

"I went outside for a smoke." He almost looked guilty then.

Bruce had only run inside, because of him. Had put himself in danger, because of him. Had faced his worst fears, because of him.

Because, although Jason had been the one to die in that warehouse in Ethiopia, _his_ trauma was now mostly associated with clowns, and crowbars, and countdowns. It had been _Bruce_ who had seen the aftermath. Who had run into that burning building, to find his son already dead.

"I'm sorry." Clark spoke up. "I don't know why I didn't see it. I just came back to do a final sweep of the building and-"

"And thank god you did." Bruce looked at him earnestly. "You didn't know there was a bomb. None of us did."

And how could he be blamed, for not finding a bomb he didn't know to look for. It's all well and good having x-ray vision - but only when you know to turn it on.

"I'm just glad everyone is alright." Bruce admitted, looking so open and vulnerable, for a man usually so dense and stoic.

Clark let him go then, allowing Jason to fully take his weight, whilst he had words with the now tantruming Julian. His surprise, it seemed, had failed - and he wanted everyone to know just how unappy he was about it. Clark clocked the man square across the jaw, knocking him back into the snow, the second he got close. And they had to admit, it was very satisfying to watch Superman knock the man out.

Jason was surprised, then, as Bruce used the arm he already had round his shoulders to pull him into a hug. He tensed up at the contact, a little surprised, before easing into it. Slowly, he lifted his own arms, fingers latching on to what was left of Bruce's jumper. He hid his face in the crook of the man's shoulder, not willing to let him see the tears which were suddenly brimming in his eyes.

"I'm glad you're alright, too... Dad." Jason told him, only causing Bruce to squeeze him tighter.

They stayed like that for a moment, letting all the tension drain from their bones. There seemed to have been a delayed reaction; for them both to realise that the other really _was_ alive. And now they did, they didn't want to let the other go ever again. How time had changed, over the last two years - when Jason would have been the one happy to see the man go up in smoke along with the building.

Actually, no. That was wrong. He never wanted Bruce dead. He just wanted him to prove that he cared - and maybe, just maybe, this finally felt like proof enough.

"Hey, do you think now this jumpers more than a little singed, Alfred will finally let me take it off?" Bruce asked, still not releasing his son.

Jason laughed, missing this side of Bruce Wayne. "I think he'll use it as an excuse to knit you another one."

"You're probably right, Jaylad. You're probably right..." He smiled, as he slowly released him. "Come on, lets get you home."

***

Bruce sat down carefully on the sitting room sofa, trying to ignore the way his body ached. Alfred had been fussing over him non-stop, since his return - only managing to escape when Jim Gordon had called. He'd be over in the morning, to take a statement - allowing the family to spend what was left of Christmas Day in peace. However, he _did_ expect a photo, to bring back to Barbara, of them all in their knitted jumpers. Which meant that Bruce wasn't saved from taking his off just yet, even with all the little singe marks.

Clark sat beside him, sliding an arm over his shoulders to pull Bruce close to his side, so that he could place a kiss on his uninjured cheek. Bruce threaded his fingers through Clark's free hand, enjoying the warmth. It always interested him - the lack of callouses, despite all of Clark's farm work. How unmarred Superman's skin was, compared to his own. No scars or broken bones. Perfect, entirely, inside and out.

"It's good to have you home, dear." Clark said, in a way that said he through Bruce was pretty perfect too.

"It's good to _be_ home." Bruce raised their joint hands, to place a kiss there - thinking that all that was missing, was a ring.

Together, they looked over their family with a joint expression of such contentment.

Tim and Conner mirrored them, sat together on another sofa. Except Tim had fallen asleep against his boyfriend. There was a healthy amount of colour back in his cheeks now, made pink from the warmth of the fireplace.

Jon was sat on the floor with Damian, doodling together on Damian's cast (blue, for reasons undisclosed). You could definitely tell who's artwork belonged to who - considering one boy draw stick figure fights of Superboy and Robin, while the other sketched a _very_ detailed, hyper-realistic portrait of Batcow.

Alfred busied himself - stoking the fire, and fetching hot chocolates, and preparing snacks in the place of dinner. He seemed unwilling to stay still, against their protests; taking a leaf out of his son's book, in reaction to his own injuries. Bruce made sure to let him know he was a hypocrite.

Cass was sat in the armchair closest to the fire, with Alfred the cat in her lap. She stroked him peacefully, still wearing her mismatched socks, never looking more like a bond villain. In fact, she appeared just about ready to turn on Dick, if he poked her one more time, to check that she was alright.

Dick himself, like Alfred, was determined to keep himself busy. He wouldn't sit for even a moment - joining the old man in carrying out food and drinks for the family, and making sure to check in on each of them in turn (even Titus, who followed him about like an excited puppy).

But apparently, this little slice of peace wasn't meant to last - when Jason, Roy and Kori strode into the room. Each carried an armful of presents, Kori having flown them back to their apartment, to pick up the gifts the family had bought over only that morning. They'd all unanimously decided to spend at least the night at the manor, which meant carting everything back here while it was still Christmas.

"We're back!" Jason grinned, setting down his own pile carefully on the floor.

"And we bought non-alcoholic eggnog!" Roy beamed behind him.

"I admit, I do not understand this 'egg-nog'." Kori frowned, bringing up the rear.

"Egg." Dick grinned, hopping over to help. "And nog."

"I'm still unclear on the 'nog'." Her frowned deepened.

The Outlaws took a seat on the floor, huddled together so close, as though trying to breath the same air. Jason found himself sandwiched between Roy and Kori, all three in their matching jumpers. He could no longer smell peppermint, for which he was thankful - just strawberries, and leather, and fabric softener. All scents of home. Together, they leant back against the only free sofa in their tangle of limbs; one body with three heads, speaking in hushed tones together.

And Bruce, warmed by the sight, couldn't help but note how different this Jason was. How much he'd softened, given time, and space, and love. He was glad his son had found someone (or, _someones_ ) who could give him that. Although, maybe he wouldn't be so happy, if he knew what they were talking about. Discussing plans of later finishing what they'd missed out on that morning - this time with Jason playing piggy in the middle. They figured he deserved it.

"I'll hand the presents out." Dick plopped down onto the floor, taking charge of even this small task. "Alfred, get in here! You've got things to unwrap!"

"Yes, yes," The elderly butler let himself be hurried onto the remaining armchair. "Just making sure the mince pies weren't burning."

Homemade, of course.

Soon, everyone found a colourfully wrapped gift shoved into their hands. Three from each person, following the family rules; one off their Christmas list, one practical, and one silly. Steadily, as the floor filled up with the remnants of wrapping paper, Alfred refused point blank to bend down to pick it all up. His knees weren't what they used to be.

The kids didn't seem to have a problem with that, though; turning it into a competition, to see if they could manage to throw each scrunched up ball into the bin from their chosen seats. Roy, of course, won by a mile. They seemed to have more fun with that, than their actual presents.

"You know," Jason suddenly announced. "I feel kinda bad about not getting you guys anything... So, I was thinking I'd give you an I.O.U. The three of us will cook you a meal of your choice. Outlaws do Christmas dinner. Although... Maybe not Kori."

That got a laugh. A number of people in the room had been subjected to many of her odd meal combinations. She blushed prettily, making Jason kiss her on the nose - in apology for the joke at her expense.

"Does that mean you're actually _inviting_ us round this time?" Tim asked with a smile, awake now, since their arrival.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea." Kon commented, head resting in his boyfriend's lap. "Considering what happened last time."

"Hey!" Roy protested, mirroring his position across Jason's lap. "They only got nabbed because Calendar man followed the Wayne's to our place."

Bruce had been coerced in to revealing that little titbit. And he was beginning to regret it now. Especially with the guilt clear on Jason's face at the topic of conversation.

The Wayne's had only shown up, because Jason had ignored their invitation to spend Christmas at the manor. Not that the rest of the family knew that, of course.

"Clearly, you should come to the manor to prepare the meal." Damian argued reasonably. "Here, we are not at risk of any outside attacks."

"To be fair," Dick grinned. "He did wait _until_ we'd finished eating."

Roy snorted a laugh at that. Although, he seemed to be the only one who found it funny.

"Does this mean you'll be visiting more often?" Cass signed, once she'd caught Jason's eye.

Maybe someone else _did_ know about the invitation.

"I guess..." Jason spoke, as he signed back in response, "I _did_ say I.O.U."

Bruce couldn't help the relief he felt at Jason's answer. Enough so, that Clark felt his heartbeat pick up a moment, causing the Kryptonian to smile affectionately. The man's heart was _so_ big - and he only wished more people could see it, if they only stopped to listen. Because Clark really did think Bruce Wayne was perfect, too.

"You know, all we're missing now is a Christmas movie - to go with the mince pies." Clark suggested, thumb rubbing absently over Bruce's knuckles.

"Oh, heavens." Alfred looked very unimpressed about this debate being started again.

"We've got plenty to chose from." Bruce said. "Although, the kids are very opinionated on what the right one to watch is."

"Oh really?" Clark smirked. "Well, there's only one right answer-"

"The Muppets Christmas Carol." Conner announced with confidence.

"White Christmas." Both Clark and Jon corrected, at the same time.

"Oh, not this again." Damian scowled.

"Don't be such a Grinch. You know what this mean? We need a deciding vote." Dick suggested, turning to his brother, and old teammate. "Dami, Kori?"

"I do not object to the sound of this 'White Christmas'." She smiled at the way Jon's eyes lit up by her decision.

"Tt. I suppose I can put up with it, for Jon's sake. You did assist in releasing me." Damian allowed.

"Are you saying I saved your life?" Jon nudged his friend.

"Of course not. I would have found my own way out eventually... You just sped up the process."

"I guess that's decided!" Dick shot up from his spot. "I'll set up the DVD."

"And I'll go check on the pies..." Alfred heaved himself out of his seat, trying to gain some feeling in his knees again.

Bruce pat the sofa next to him. "Room enough, for anyone who doesn't want to keep sitting on the floor?"

At the offer, before he had a chance to fight back, Jason was bodily hauled by Roy and Kori into the spot next to his Dad. He yelped as he landed, making Bruce laugh. A full body sound, that filled the whole house with light, and reminded Clark why he loved them man all over again.

Encouraged by the display - against Damian's _very_ loud protests - Jon scooped up his friend into his arms, and took the spot next to his own Dad.

Soon enough, feeling inspired, the whole family found themselves trying to squeeze onto the one sofa - despite the fact that there were several others available - Cass, and Tim, and Conner, and Dick joining, too. Bruce and Clark felt themselves pushed and prodded as the family tried to make space around them - Bruce feeling the worst of the blows, letting out grumpy little 'oof's every time an elbow, or a foot managed to catch him in the ribs. They all seemed to forget that he'd nearly been blown up just a couple of hours prior.

By the time everyone had found a spot, contorted around each other in one big mess of libs, Alfred had returned with the mince pies. He didn't even permit the scene an eyebrow raise, as he handed out the treats, and took his own place in Cass' vacated arm chair.

"I guess I'll press play then, shall I?" He noted that Dick had deserted the TV, to sprawl himself across the laps of as many people as he possibly could.

"If you'd be so kind." Dick smiled, guiltily.

Amused (but Britishly keeping it to himself) Alfred started the movie before making himself comfortable once again. He reached out for his knitting needles as the opening title sequence played, determined to start on his next jumper. This time, one each for Damian's menagerie of pets. And as the opening song of the movie played, the family settled in. Warm. And Safe. And happy. While, outside, the snow began to fall for real this time; providing them with more than one White Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna thank my bestie for forcing me to watch White Christmas. Also Teen Titans. They're a menace.
> 
> Enjoy the long awaited fluff that was promised!


End file.
